


Speak Your Mind, Just Once

by Ghostlymissions



Series: Small Moments That Mean The World [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostlymissions/pseuds/Ghostlymissions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Quiet settled over them. Steve’s skin tingled and flushed, the energy in the room growing, the air becoming heavier. It had to be Bucky’s decision; Steve would never take advantage. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Based on prompt #1: <em>“Try to speak your mind.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Your Mind, Just Once

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the 1930s, when Steve and Bucky are around 19 years old.

Steve jolted awake at the sound of the front door creaking on its hinges. The bedroom was pitch black; not quite dawn, then. On the precipice between very late and too early.

He tracked the sound of footsteps, knowing this routine. A stumble on the way to the sink. A cupboard opening, the tap turned on and off. Silence, then the chink of the glass against the countertop. A small cough. Two small thuds, shoes toed off and shoved aside. Muffled footsteps becoming louder as they walked towards the bedroom. Steve’s heart tripped, nerves and excitement mingling together in his stomach. Nights like this only ended two ways.

A cool breeze brushed Steve’s face as Bucky pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside the cramped room. His skin prickled as he felt eyes in his direction, sensing out the darkness. A small pause, the sound of Bucky’s even breath, and then the gentle rustle of clothes being stripped, placed on the chair. 

Steve always hated the anticipation, had never been a patient person. He couldn’t pretend to sleep any longer, so he made a show of turning over, making noise.

“Hey”.

He heard Bucky swallow. “Hi”.

Steve’s nerves lessened, turning into a low burn in his stomach – Bucky didn’t tell him to go back to sleep. Now Steve knew how it would play out tonight. Excitement won the battle.

The bed dipped as Bucky slid in next to him, the sharp smell of alcohol and perfume lingering on his skin. A careful inch of space was left between them; a void, a boundary.

Steve turned on his side, shuffled back to give Bucky more room. Bucky adjusted again. One inch. The bed creaked.

“So, a good night then?”

He felt Bucky lift a hand to scrub at his hair. “Yeah, it was alright”.

“Meryl, right?”

“Nah, Dottie Walsh”.

Steve huffed, not bothering to give any verbal response. Bucky chuckled in return, but Steve couldn’t sense a smile.

Quiet settled over them. Steve’s skin tingled and flushed, the energy in the room growing, becoming heavier. It had to be Bucky’s decision; Steve would never take advantage. But the silence stretched and Bucky didn’t move, so Steve sighed, made to turn towards the wall. 

Then Bucky’s voice, as soft and gravelly as ever. 

“C’mere”.

Steve rolled over, crossing the boundary of No Man’s Land. He balanced himself over Bucky for a long moment before Bucky finally reached out and pulled him down.

They pressed together, the solid weight of Bucky’s body beneath his the most familiar thing Steve knew. Warm hands ran up and down his arms, then gently slid under his t-shirt, tracing the bones of his back. Bucky’s breathing became heavier, mixing with Steve’s quick breaths. 

Steve rubbed his face against the sharp shadow on Bucky’s neck. The scent of perfume was stronger, there, but so was the sharp tang of Bucky’s sweat. Steve wanted to erase the perfume, to cover over it and pretend it never existed, but kisses weren’t allowed. Not yet.

So he teased; blew air gently on Bucky’s neck, grinning at the goosebumps that shivered across his skin. Steve slid his hand through Bucky’s chest hair before rubbing a nipple, thumbing it into hardness. Bucky’s fingers dug into his back, urging him on. It felt like victory, the trust Bucky gave him. Only him.

He reached down to cup Bucky’s cock, rubbed his hand against the fabric, feeling it twitch and push against its confinement. Bucky made a soft, hurt sound, and suddenly it was frantic. It was desperate. 

Bucky shoved Steve’s briefs over his bony hips and down to his knees, roughly running ran his hands over Steve’s hairy thighs, his breathing ragged, overwhelmed. He cupped Steve’s balls, then moved to feel the flatness of his stomach, tracing the trail leading down. He grasped Steve’s cock and began jerking him quickly, no hesitation, no buildup. Just twisting on the upstroke the way Steve loved the most. Bucky shoved his face against Steve’s shoulder, panting against his skin. Steve felt a wet kiss on his collarbone. A cue.

He finally, finally licked at Bucky’s neck, kissed and nuzzled the sweaty skin, wishing more than anything that he could leave marks, a claim. Possessiveness rolled through him, and he bit down, sucked the skin into his mouth anyway, consequences be damned. Bucky let out a harsh breath, tilting his neck towards him. Steve found Bucky’s pulse with his tongue, thrumming in tune with his own, and wanted to whisper ‘ _I know. I know_ ’. Instead he soothed the bruise with a quick kiss, hoping Bucky understood.

Steve licked his hand and felt Bucky’s breath stutter in response. He shoved aside Bucky’s boxers, stroking him only for a moment before pushing his own hips down, pressing their cocks together, the feeling sharp and raw. Arms wrapped around him, engulfed him, let him rub only for a second before pulling him up, a hot mouth at his neck, his ear, rubbing against his jawline. Steve clenched his teeth but could barely smother the moan.

Bucky’s hand was insistent, pulling and twisting, the sound becoming wetter, and Steve felt the heat trip down his spine, settle in his stomach. His harsh breathing came out with a wheeze. His pushed his forehead against Bucky’s, their mouths barely brushing.

“Buck-”

Lips covered his, smothering the sound. Steve licked into Bucky’s mouth, the sharp taste of alcohol still lingering there. A hand grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him closer, and too much, it was too much. Through his pleasure he felt Bucky’s back arch, warm wetness splash his stomach. Bucky’s mouth trembled against his, letting out the smallest sob.

They lay tangled together, after, Bucky’s hand placed against Steve’s chest, feeling his heartbeat slow. Steve loved this moment most of all: the warmth, the comfort, the sense of rightness and home. The feeling of Bucky pliant and relaxed, allowing himself to be held, tracing patterns on Steve’s skin. 

Steve reached up, ran his hand through soft brown locks, and then lightly touched where he left the mark on Bucky’s neck. He moved his mouth to Bucky’s ear, his voice no more than a breath. 

“You okay?”

Bucky pushed him away. “Get some sleep, Steve. It’s late”. 

****

The mornings after were the worst part - the way Bucky would avert his eyes every time Steve looked in his direction. The trembling awkwardness between them that took hours to dissipate. The contagious sense of shame, of wrongdoing, that made Steve feel sick to his stomach.

But it wasn’t wrong. It _wasn’t_. It couldn’t be, the way he felt for Bucky. If only Bucky felt the same.

He cleared his throat, watching Bucky studiously read the paper, carefully avoiding Steve’s presence. A reddish mark, high on his neck, the only evidence of the night. The only evidence of _Steve_.

Steve poured some coffee, testing the atmosphere. No response.

“You wanna go to the park later today?”, he ventured. “There’s supposed to be some sort of competition. Could be fun to watch”.

Bucky shook his head, not looking up. “I’m picking up Dottie for mass, and then we might stop by the pharmacy after, grab some sodas”. 

“Oh”.

More silence. The rustle of the paper. As though last night never happened, everything smoothed over, life back to normal. Steve’s frustration bubbled over; it was too much. He refused to stand down.

“So this is how it’s going to be? Even now?”

Finally Bucky looked up, quirked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Bucky, look at your _neck_ -”.

Bucky closed his paper a little too hard against the table. Anger flashed across his features before he consciously smoothed it out, smiled.

“Aw, Stevie, I know we had plans. It’s just…Dottie and I are going steady now,” Bucky said, a little too loudly, rubbing his neck. “So I might be home late most nights”. Then he smirked, touching the mark.

Steve saw red. _‘Mine,_ ’ he wanted to scream. _‘You know that’s mine’._

Bucky kept smiling, but his eyes flickered past Steve, towards the window. “Hey, I’ll see if she has a friend, okay?”. 

Steve stared at Bucky’s frozen smile. The undercurrent of fear, of desperation, was sharp in the air. Slowly he uncurled his fists, took a step back. He couldn’t pick a fight with Bucky, not about this. Because he knew everything about Bucky; he knew him inside and out, understood everything. But that didn’t make it any less exhausting. It didn’t make it any less hurtful. Life was never fair.

“Damnit, Buck,” he said softly. “Can't you speak your mind just _once_?”

Bucky’s smirk faded, his expression changing to something dark and solemn. His eyes flicked over Steve’s face, searching. After a moment he looked down, pushing himself out of the chair and grabbing his coat from the hook on the wall. He walked towards the door, paused, then roughly walked back to Steve. His faced twisted.

“You _know_ ", Bucky said. “You know I can’t. Not like you”.

Footsteps retreated. The door slammed shut.


End file.
